


Memory Items

by SoulJelly



Category: FRAGILE さよなら月の廃墟 | Fragile Dreams: Farewell Ruins of the Moon
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-05 15:44:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1095757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoulJelly/pseuds/SoulJelly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ren doesn’t need the past like Seto does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Memory Items

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Estirose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Estirose/gifts).



> I wanted to write you something related to the memory items and this piece sort of grew from there. It ended up being a little more focused on Ren than I intended, but I hope you like it.

Ren clambered through the wreckage, searching for useful things.  
  


A glance at the sky told her it would be dark in little more than a few hours, and setting up camp was proving to be difficult. With the only shelter for miles around being two crumbling brick walls, she and Seto would need to improvise, hide themselves and PF away from the cold winds that raced across the open fields when the sun dipped down below the horizon. Her hands turned over items quickly as she searched through the remains; a tarpaulin would do, and something to prop it upright with.  
  


She paused briefly, rubbing her hands together as a weak protest against the growing chill. A scrap of ribbon brushed against her as she did so, and with it the ghost of a memory.  
  


_No one ever expects it to happen to them, do they? I always dreamed of leaving home and becoming a famous fashion designer in Tokyo. Now… well, we don’t have gas or electricity any more, so instead of making posh clothes for myself, I’m stitching scraps of fabric together to make blankets. It’s strange, though. I’m sad that I’ve lost my dream, but being here with these survivors that are left, being able to help others, it makes me happy in a weird way. I guess it’s good just to be doing the right thing._  
  


Ren looked down at her own clothing, merely scraps at this point. Occasionally, she conceded, there was a memory that resonated. Yet the thought didn’t linger, and she was quick to move on.  
  


Seto’s progression through a similar pile, Ren noted as she spared a glance in his direction, was much more slow and methodical. When Ren rummaged through the rubble, she found it harder to connect with the useless things - broken toys, old batteries. Occasionally, a stray memory would rise from one, floating up and catching on the breeze like a speck of dust, and Ren would find herself temporarily immersed in it, anonymous long-ago voices echoing inside her head. Pleading, resentful, philosophical, innocent. The entire spectrum of human feeling, vividly intensified in its final moments. A sure, powerful consequence of the whole world dying at once and its desperation to leave a legacy behind.  
  


_….. Please, if anyone finds this, know that I wanted to make a difference….._  
  


_...Was there ever a God? or have I believed in one my entire life, for nothing? …._  
  


_….“Mama, Papa, tell me a bedtime story!”  …._  
  


_….My childhood friend gave me this bell, she joked she’d always know when I was coming if I kept it in my pocket..._  
  


Ren heaved a quiet sigh, a smoky cloud of warm breath escaping into the growing chill.  
  


Why was Seto so enraptured with these memories? she wondered. Even when they hurt him he would pay them such diligent attention, examining the found objects intensely in the soft glow of the firelight and turning each occasion into a silent vigil for the long-dead. Seto kept all of the things he found, too, although even when pressed he could give no real answer as to what he was eventually going to do with them. Ren was, on the whole, far more interested in practical things. She had not survived so long on sentimentality, after all.  
  


Presently, she spotted the corner of something that looked promising, and tugged on it. Little by little, a sheet that looked at least a little waterproof began to emerge from the pile of things.  
  


A few more memories drifted up from the wreckage. A broken chain was particularly poignant-  
  


_I was so excited to meet you! I knew you for all these years, and we never got the chance to meet face to face. We wrote stories together, and talked about TV shows and movies we liked. You stayed up so late for me, I’m surprised you never fell asleep in class! Or maybe you did, and never told me… Anyway, you helped me through so much. I was going to give you something, just a small gift, to say thank you. Thank you for being my friend._  
  


-and a mirror, smudged with dirt.  
  


_You were never nice to me. Why should the end of the world make any difference? It’s too late for amends. I wanted to get away from you, but in the end I couldn’t. I’ll always be angry. You were never nice to me._  
  


The aura of malice in that one was quite shocking, and Ren quickly nudged it aside so that Seto wouldn’t see.  
  


Her bare foot sunk slightly into the ground, half-dried mud seeping between her toes. Ren frowned. The last heavy rainfall had been three days ago, but the ground was drying steadily and she was confident it would not be so damp that they’d be unable to get a fire going. Still, it would be useful to uncover a new pair of shoes. She had worn out so many found pairs, run them right down until the rubber was paper-thin on the soles and the things completely fell apart and she was resigned to travelling barefoot.

  
She should see how Seto’s shoes were holding up, too. He had walked many miles now, and they had so many more to go before they could find Crow; Ren hadn’t even thought about what would happen after that. The world was so vast, its remaining human population scattered far and wide… She shied away from notions of the future, drawing herself back to the present moment and the boy that was never too far from her thoughts.  
  


“Seto,” she called to him. Even now, his name was a novelty on her tongue; she loved the short syllables of it, the soft ‘s’ like a whisper and the neat, clipped ‘t’. “Seto, how are you doing?”  
  


He looked up as she approached, stretching out his back. “I’ve found some sticks, and some old cushions to line the ground with. They’re a little damp-” he held them up, expression apologetic, “but the ground is so cold, I thought they might be useful.”  
  


“That’s great.” She gestured to her own findings. “Will you help me carry these things over in a moment?”

  
He smiled at her. “Sure.” The smile vanished a second later, morphing into a wince of pain. “Oh,” he gasped, blue eyes wide and hands pressed to the base of his spine, “I guess I’ve overdone it a little. I’m going to set you down for a moment, PF.”  
  


“No problem,” the machine replied cheerfully. He unclipped the buckles at his side and placed her on the ground with a light thud - as far as machinery went, the Personal Frame wasn’t terribly heavy, but the strain of having carried her on his back in the long miles from the Underground Station had evidently taken their toll. Seto paced a little as he rubbed the sore spot between his shoulder blades and Ren took the chance to rest too, sitting down beside their newly recovered travelling companion. There was, she noted absently, still a speck of dirt on PF’s antennae.  
  


“We’ll be ready to settle down soon, so he can rest properly,” Ren said, her gaze never leaving the boy.  
  


“The wind is blowing toward us from a north-easterly direction. Based on the position of the remaining walls, I recommend pitching the camp at a 45 degree angle against the building for the highest probability of shelter and comfort.”

  
Ren smiled wryly at the machine’s overly cheerful tone and precise manner. The unfamiliarity between them was bridged by Seto’s gentle nature and his eagerness for them to be friends, but bridged, still, over a wide gulf. They had not known one another long; for PF’s part, she was becoming more friendly towards the silver-haired girl with each passing day, but after all she had been through, Ren still mistrusted machines.

  
Nonetheless, she said “Thanks.”

  
“You are welcome, Ren.”

  
They watched as Seto wandered away from them and took something from his pocket, a small item hidden in his cupped palm which he gazed upon with something like wistfulness. His fingers curled around the object, the slightest motion of tension and release, before his face relaxed. Though he did not smile, he didn’t seem particularly sad. The memory there could be anything, and Ren found herself intrigued by whatever tale Seto had discovered.  
  


PF said nothing. The lights on her antennae flickered faintly, suggesting the running of some programming not connected to her voice module. United in their concern for Seto, they sat side by side, and Ren contemplated the small machine.

  
The ghosts couldn’t hurt her, at least not in any lasting way; they taunted her until she was tired, their malignant voices ringing in her head, and disembodied feet kicked her own out from under her, but she could fight them off with little more than a broken stick. She supposed that the last memories of humanity were like ghosts in a way, and she didn’t care much for those either. It was always better to look forward, not to dwell on what had been. Seto on the other hand seemed to connect so deeply to everything around him; befriending strangers with ease, reaching out a strong hand of friendship to all who crossed his path.

  
The robots, she was especially wary of - Ren, legs folded beneath her on the ground, squeezed her eyes shut and brushed away the memories of dark tunnels and androids with red glinting eyes - but PF and Seto were working on changing her mind.

  
Ren liked cats best of all, she decided. They were affectionate but aloof and she envied their freedom, their resilience and ability to survive. How wise they seemed, padding silently through the night beneath the silver light of the moon. And they could tell when a person was good - they had helped her to believe in Seto, to push past her own doubts.  
  


Even as the thought occurred to her, a cat padded towards them through the wreckage. Seto sometimes drew them to him by picking toys from the wreckage for them to play with, but Ren had found that simply sitting still until they settled beside her was equally effective. This one was a tabby, beneath its matted fur, and it purred when Ren reached out and stroked its ears. The sound made her suddenly aware of how quiet things had become, and, turning once more to PF, she filled the empty air with her thoughts.  
  


“I wonder why Seto is so fixated on those memories.”  
  


“Seto once told me that he grew up alone, except for an old man who cared for him. Perhaps he is trying to find a connection to the humanity he has lost.”  
  


“But he’s found me,” Ren pointed out. And, as an afterthought and because PF _was_ proving to be one of the most human robots she had met so far, “and you.”  
  


“Yes. I am merely speculating. Another possibility is that Seto is trying to learn more about what happened to the world. Or maybe he simply believes that these people deserve to be remembered.”  
  


“Maybe,” said Ren, though which theory she was agreeing with PF couldn’t be sure.  
  


At long last, Seto put the item back in his pocket and walked back over to them. He was smiling again, arms folded against the cold and the collar of his jacket turned upright. The blue-grey fabric seemed to engulf him, as worn and tired as the shadows beneath his eyes, but his smile as he looked from one companion to the other was determined and bright.  
  


“I feel a little better now. Shall we build the shelter before it gets too dark?”  
  


They did so - Ren and Seto working together, and PF adding helpful commentary from the side - and when at last they were done they sank gratefully on to the cushions Seto had gathered. The sun set in a brilliant wash of pinkish gold, sending long shadows over the open plains, and Seto, PF and Ren huddled together for warmth around the quietly roaring flame. Seto sat with his arms folded around PF, knees bent, and leaned into Ren’s shoulder.  
  


At this point, the cat had long since disappeared, but Ren found herself content with the company of  warm bodies and even the constant, comforting chatter of a newly recharged machine. PF said something, a clipped line with an unnecessary statistic which proved unintentionally hilarious, and Seto laughed - the sound was sudden and so lovely that Ren couldn’t help but be caught up in it as well. He hunched even further into his coat, eyes squeezed shut in uncontained mirth, and the stresses of the day melted from his face.  
  


“Oh,” he said at last, sighing a long exhale. Then, after a beat of silence, he said “Thank you both, for being here with me.”  
  


Ren smiled. PF’s antennae flickered.  
  


“Seto,” PF said. “Will you tell us more about your friend Crow? I’m excited to meet him!”  
  


“Yeah,” Ren added. “How did the two of you meet?”  
  


Seto launched into the tale, painting a picture with words in the way those people who were brought up with the art of storytelling do. (He read a lot, he had admitted, eyes shining with the recollection of the old observatory and its walls lined with books.) He set PF down beside Ren as he spoke, and the two sat side by side in the makeshift shelter to listen to his story.  
  


In the firelight, surrounded by both useless and invaluable things, they would make their own memories.


End file.
